


Cruel Fantasy, Broken Reality

by sherlockian4evr



Series: My Dark Muse [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Altered Memories, Anal Sex, Dark, Forced Prostitution, Hand Jobs, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved, referenced past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been missing for what seems like forever. Sometimes it's more than John can bear. When the pain gets to be too much, he seeks relief in the cruelest of fantasies.</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John

**Author's Note:**

> I've been holding onto this for a while. It's dark and I've broken our boys. I just thought I'd put it out there. Since it's unresolved and there is little comfort to be had, I parked it here in this series of my dark fics.

John was about to do something more than a bit not good. His flatmate, no, his best friend had been missing for almost a year. There had been no sign of him in all that time. This wasn't like his absence after The Fall. John could tell because Mycroft had looked drawn and had radiated despair when he came by 221B earlier in the day. It had been a brief visit. Even those had become less frequent. All the man had had to say was that there had been no new information on Sherlock's whereabouts.

Mycroft's news, rather the lack thereof, had inflamed John's loneliness and pain. He had to have just a brief relief. A few hours in which to forget the pain. Never mind that he would feel even worse afterwards.

The lounge of the bordello was quite posh, but John didn't notice. He hadn't partaken of the snacks or beverages that were provided while he waited. Instead, he waited impatiently. When the beautiful blonde woman had turned her inquiries in his direction, he had quickly and efficiently told her exactly what form of companionship he wanted: male, slim, 6 feet in height, preferably curly dark hair (just long enough to tangle his fingers in), complete silence on the prostitute's part, a totally darkened room, and he wanted to be fucked. Hard.

The room that he had been led to was just as posh as the lobby had been and John cared just as little. He was left alone to prepare for his encounter any way he liked. John stripped perfunctorily, folding his clothes and placing them on a chair out of the way. He walked over to the door and flipped the call switch. It lit a light over the door in the hall. Next, he flipped off the lights and made his way to the bed to wait. There was a lamp by the bed. He flipped it off as well.

When the male prostitute had entered the room, John had been pleasantly surprised by the man's silhouette. It was just what he had hoped for and the man remained silent. Perfect. They normally at least tried to say a few words when they entered. John hadn't wanted to talk to the man, it would have ruined the illusion.

John didn't move where he was reclined on the bed. Instead he lay there, and let the prostitute climb on top of him. He expected the man's hands to move immediately to his arse and start preparing him, but the prostitute had other ideas.

When the tall man nuzzled into his neck and sucked gently on his throat, John allowed his eyes to close. He carefully wrapped the image of Sherlock around the sensations that he was feeling and let himself go.

A tongue danced down his torso, tasting each nipple, his navel, and the curve just above his hip. Hands skittered along his sides and coaxed little cries of pleasure from the doctor. He imagined that it was Sherlock exploring his body and learning how he reacted to his touch.

John's hand came up and tangled in the other man's hair. This was just how Sherlock's curls would have felt if he had ever dared to allow himself to explore them. He ignored the tears that were building behind his eyelids.

The delightful sensations continued to build as the other man continued ministering to John's body. He allowed himself to feel them all. The whole time, the doctor replayed memories of his flatmate over and over within his mind.

John started with his oldest memory of Sherlock - the moment that he had walked into Bart's lab. The detective was standing across the lab preparing a Petri dish, pipette in hand. He had barely spared John a glance. The doctor had had no idea just how much the other man had taken in about him in such a brief moment. When Sherlock had deduced him so completely, it had taken John's breath away. If only he had admitted it to himself. That was the moment that he fell for the madman. Everything that came after only served to reinforce his feelings.

The prostitute had begun nosing at John's shoulder, nuzzling into his scar. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like it when people took notice of his scar. Still, he allowed it. It was something that Sherlock would have done.

Moriarty had re-injured John's should during the kidnapping that had ended ultimately in a poolside standoff between the psychopath and the detective. Sherlock's reaction had been endearing. The man had been more concerned with John's injury than anything else that had happened. John could have shagged the detective that night. He's certain of it. The sexual tension between them had been palpable. Why, he wondered, had he thrown the opportunity away?

Long fingers took John's cock in hand and explored its length. The prostitute's touch was gentle, but firm, almost insistent. That marvellous hand cupped his bollocks and fondled him before stroking down his perineum and carefully back to his hole. John's body was being played with expertise. Sherlock would have done that too.

John allowed himself to picture his flatmate as he stood by the window playing his violin. In his mind's eye, his flatmate was wearing his pyjama bottoms, his red dressing gown, and a grey T-shirt. Naturally, the T-shirt was inside out.

  
He sobbed.

  
Instantly, the prostitute's lips were covering his mouth, muffling the sound with a deep kiss. That had never happened before. He had thought that there was some sort of prostitute's code against it.  
John pictured Sherlock's perfectly shaped pink lips. He imagined what it would have been like to kiss that lovely cupid's bow and moaned into the prostitute's mouth. He couldn't experience that now, so he drank deeply from the fount that was being offered to him instead.

Sounds had started coming from the other man. They were incoherent sighs and moans. This prostitute was skilled. He sounded as if he were getting lost in John.

  
The doctor wondered what Sherlock would have sounded like during the throws of sex. Would he have been silent? Would be have talked the entire time? Would he have moaned and sighed John's name?

  
The prostitute had paused in his ministrations to retrieve a bottle of lube from the bedside table. John heard a snap as the other man opened the bottle of lube. In mere seconds, long fingers were stroking in a circular motion around the doctor's hole. They coaxed their way into John, one finger at a time. It wasn't long before he had been gently stretched and opened.

The doctor heard the sound of a condom being opened and imagined that it was Sherlock who was preparing for him. When the prostitute returned his attentions to John, the doctor imagined that it was Sherlock's hands touching him, Sherlock's lips caressing him, and Sherlock's cock nudging at his hole. He clung to the other man and breathed through the skillful penetration.

  
John felt full and, for the moment, it was wonderful. He was empty in every other way. At least he could have this.

  
The prostitute began to move, slowly at first, then faster. Harder. He was driving John inexorably towards the head of the bed. The doctor had to raise his arms over his head and push against the headboard to keep himself in place. John was getting the pounding that he had craved. It didn't take long before he tipped over into orgasm calling Sherlock's name. The prostitute reached his own climax then collapsed onto the bed beside him.

John felt long fingers twine around his wrist and squeeze. Something didn't feel right. No. Something felt too right, too perfect. A humming sound was coming from the man bedside him. It was a familiar sort of hum. Suddenly he felt chilled. Reaching over, John turned on the lamp then turned to face the prostitute.

It was Sherlock.

"Sherlock! What the fuck? Where have you been? What's going on?"

The detective curled in on himself and covered his head with his arms. The man was obviously terrified.

  
John reached over and gently tried to move Sherlock's arms. "Sherlock. It's okay. Look at me." He finally coaxed the other man into looking at him. There was something missing in the detective's eyes. "Come on, Sherlock. Do you know me? It's John."

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, not quite recognition, then Sherlock shook his head. Still, he reached out toward John and took his hand.

Th doctor felt sick at what he had just done with the man. Obviously, Sherlock had been more than traumatised. John couldn't afford to think about that at the moment. He had to find a way to save his friend.

He called Mycroft.


	2. Sherlock

The mistress of the house fetched Adam. He fit the customer's specifications to the letter and the customer was paying a high price for this session. She didn't want to disappoint. "This one will be a bit of a break for you. You won't even have to talk to him. He wants the lights out and to be fucked. Not too gently mind."

They stopped outside the door where the customer was waiting and the mistress left him to his job. It wasn't long before the light came on above the doorway indicating that the customer was ready.

Adam was grateful that the client had made such simple requests. He was usually subjected to much worse. In those moments, he retreated into the memories of his dreams. They weren't cohesive dreams. They were more like disjointed flashes, one scene following swiftly after another.

_There would often be the image of a mousy woman. She had long brown hair and wore a lab coat. His feelings for her were never strong, but he felt a fondness for her nonetheless._

_The ginger haired man in his dreams made Adam feel prickly. The man always wore a disdainful look and seemed to be on the verge of saying something snide._

_Adam enjoyed the moments when he dreamed of the kindly older woman. Her smiles were welcoming and she often gave him quick hugs. Adam wondered if she was his mother. He liked that idea._

_The silver haired man always appeared in his dreams alongside death, murders actually, but Adam was never disturbed by that fact. Truly, he felt a sense of excitement whenever he dreamed of the man._

_The best of all was the moments that he dreamed of the golden-brown haired man. No matter what Adam was doing in his dream, the man smiled at him. Though the man never spoke, he made Adam feel safe. Warm. At home. He wished that he could dream of him all the time._

Bracing himself, Adam entered the room. He remained silent. It wasn't a hardship. Adam hated being forced to talk to his clients anyway. He closed the door behind him and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His client hadn't moved.

Adam approached the bed and climbed on top of his client. He breathed in and paused. The man beneath him smelled amazing. He smelled like everything wonderful that was denied to Adam on a daily basis. He wanted more. He nuzzled into the man's neck, inhaling deeply, and sucked gently on his client's throat.

There was something different about this client, Adam wanted to explore every inch of the man. He licked a stripe down his chest and to a nipple into his mouth. Adam sucked on it gently and teased it with his tongue before doing the same to his client's other nipple. He drew back then plunged his tongue into the man's navel then dropped down to lave at at the flesh just above his client's hip. The man shifted beneath him and groaned. Adam couldn't help himself, he swept his hands along his client's sides, feeling the man's musculature.

When the man beneath him buried his hands in Adam's hair, he let out a moan. This client was delightful, but no. Something was wrong. The man was crying silently. Adam didn't have to be able to see him to know it. He just did, and that was unacceptable. Adam set to work to make the man forget, at least for a little while.

Adam brushed his cheek against his client's shoulder. It was rough. There was scar tissue there. How extraordinary. Perhaps this was why the man had insisted on darkness - he was ashamed. Adam set about to disabuse him off the bottom. He bumped his nose into the scar then licked it. He showered the scar with affection and tender kisses.

Wondering what his client felt like, he took the other man's cock in hand. It was hard with arousal and twitched pleasantly. Adam allowed his fingers to explore its length at leisure before cupping his client's bollocks in his palm. The sac felt warm and pleasant so he kneaded it with his fingers. His client was making the most delightful sounds and Adam actually liked it. Something about this felt right. For once, he didn't feel like this was a chore that he simply had to complete to survive. He let his fingers sweep down to his client's hole.

His client sobbed.

**No. No, no. No!**

Adam slammed his lips over his client's mouth. The idea was irrational, but this client couldn't be allowed to feel that way. He should feel happy. He should feel wonderful. He should feel wanted. Adam could see to that at least. He let himself sigh and moan with desire.

Soon enough, Adam felt his client relax beneath him. The crisis seemed to be past, at least for the moment. He retrieved the lube from the bedside table. Slicking his fingers, he began to work his client open. When the man was well prepared, Adam opened and drew on a condom then bent to kiss his client's throat.

With a long, slow motion, Adam slipped his cock into his client. It didn't feel like Amy client that he had serviced before. The man felt amazing. There was no logical reason for it, but there it was, an exhilarating fact. His client wanted to be fucked hard and suddenly Adam actually wanted to do it. He began to move slowly, but then eased up. He drove into his client hard, over and over. Adam's breath was coming hard and fast and it was amazing.

His client suddenly went rigid beneath him and Adam could feel him come. The man was shouting a name and it felt oddly familiar. Adam stiffened and, quite suddenly, he was coming. He let his orgasm sweep him away then collapsed on the bed next to his client.

Panic overcame Adam. His client couldn't leave. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around his client's wrist and squeezed. When the man didn't make a move to leave, Adam hummed in pleasure. It was alright. He wasn't being left alone to return to the horrors that awaited him just yet.

The lamp on the beside table was suddenly clicked on and his client rolled to look at him.

"Sherlock! What the fuck? Where have you been? What's going on?"

This was too much. There was that name again. That name. Oh! He remembered that name. It was forbidden to him. As long as he had held onto it, he had been tortured. It hadn't been worth it. He was Adam now. He curled up and covered his head.

His client's hands were gently pulling at his arms.

"Sherlock. It's okay. Look at me."

Adam ventured a look at the man.

"Come on, Sherlock. Do you know me? It's John."

It was the golden-brown haired man from his dreams, but still, he didn't know him. He shook his head and the other man looked distraught. That wasn't okay. He reached out and took his client's hand.

He watched as the other man dug in his pocket with his left hand and pulled out a phone then made a call.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.


End file.
